Honey and Wine
by crypticnotions
Summary: The Fitzgerald Grant campaign gets a "fixer" to help out or a "how they met" story. *AU with elements of canon*
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't own Scandal. Just writing for fun.

This will probably be an Olivia/Fitz story and will probably be AU quickly. There are probably mistakes. I typed this up during a work break and only had time to quickly scan it. Let me know if there is anything I can edit.

* * *

"We need someone." Cyrus plopped a folded in half newspaper on the RV's table in front of his boss.

Fitzgerald Grant looked up from the bowl of vegetable soup he had been eagerly scooping into his mouth. With three consecutive days below twenty degrees and snow showers expected the next day, the New Hampshire winter was taking its toll.

"No, Cyrus. No slights of hand, no Hollywood tricks, just us taking it to the people."

Cyrus stared at him for several moments, not even taking his eyes off Grant when they rolled over a bump in the road that caused him to grab the top of the seat in an effort to remain on his feet. "With all due respect, Senator, if your numbers don't rise, there will be no people to talk to."

He took a seat before he pointed a finger to a portion of newspaper that was highlighted neon orange. Multi-colored graphs and pie charts spoke hard truths about how the Grant campaign was going.

"Polls mean nothing." Grant gestured with a hand without even glancing at the paper. He picked up the spoon floating atop his liquid food and resumed eating.

Cyrus leaned forward in his chair. "Polls mean everything, Sir. Everything. This is politics not some movie focus group or fantasy basketball league. For god's sake, you're polling only one percent above a man who told women they belong in the kitchen. We're going to lose the Iowa caucus. Our chances of placing third in New Hampshire are slipping away. New Hampshire, Sir. This state is tailor made for you and you're polling third."

Grant winced and dropped his spoon before mirroring Cyrus' posture. "We need someone."

* * *

"No, no and no," Olivia rapidly spoke into her cell phone. Her heels clicked with each step on the wooden floor of the Baylard Home Interior & Décor shop. "I don't have the time. I'm up to my eyeballs in media requests for the Lenard case."

She pulled the phone away from her cheek and pointed to a cream-colored curtain hanging above a display case. "Olivia Pope," she mouthed to the bearded clerk. She watched as the young man searched and located her request through a series of computer clicks.

She tilted her face toward the phone. "I hear you and the answer is still no." The phone stayed trapped between her ear and shoulder as she dug in her purse for her credit card. "I love you too, Cyrus, but this was not the kind of favor I was talking about."

She swiped her credit card and entered her PIN number while the clerk bundled and packaged her purchase into a large, white logoed bag.

She sighed. "One meeting. If I don't like this Fitzgerald Grant then you'll have to find someone else."

* * *

Senator Grant adjusted his red tie and put on his American flag lapel pin before stepping backward to glance over his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Mellie stepped from the bathroom, her head down as she struggled to strap on a diamond bracelet. "I always hate hotel bathrooms. They never have," she looked up before gushing, "Oh, don't you look handsome."

"It's not too much?"

"No, honey, you look great, very presidential." She walked up to him and pecked him on the lips.

Grant sighed. "Cyrus is introducing me to his "fixer" tonight at the banquet."

Mellie reached up to readjust his tie. "Good. Those poll numbers need to go up."

"Not you too," he groaned.

"Yes, me too. I know how wonderful a president you would make, but now we have to convince the American public. Listen to Cyrus, sweetie."

* * *

"The American people are looking for a 21st century Reagan, a person that will solve the big crises of our time, a person that can tell Iran to disarm or face consequences, a person who can ensure our children compete with the world on education and innovation while working with congress to cut spending and balance the budget. Unfortunately, there is only one Reagan, but there are many that hold the ideals of Reagan and hope to preserve his legacy. I tell you that I can help preserve that legacy and renew the American dream."

Applause thundered through the room as Grant swiped the sweat from his brow with a navy handkerchief. He descended the podium, shaking hands with several people standing at the glitzy, $1,000 a plate tables.

"Great job, babe," Mellie whispered, leaning toward him as the applause died down.

"It was nothing," he said aloud.

"Oh, quite contraire, Fitzgerald. I was just telling Billy here that were you a tad more conservative you would have my vote."

Grant raised a brow. "Really? Sally, you flatter me."

Sally Langston, Governor of Louisiana and shortlist Vice President favorite of all the potential candidates, smirked at him. "Flatter? Oh dear. I'm afraid I meant it much more cynically than that."

"Indeed," Grant commented. He wasn't about to spend much time on Sally Langston's antics.

Cyrus appeared at his side. "Sir, she's here."

"Who?"

"Olivia Pope."

Grant had forgotten that his speech wasn't just to impress the high-priced donors, but the person who was going to fix his campaign. Of course, that would be the last time he ever forgot about Olivia Pope.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Oh my goodness. Thank you to all who reviewed! I hope you continue to enjoy the ride. This story is already AU in that I see Grant was a Governor so whatever.

I don't have much time to write or type up these chapters so please let me know if there are glaring mistakes.

Here's the standard "Don't own 'em" disclaimer. I suspect bad things would be afoot if I did.

* * *

"Comparing yourself to Reagan is a mistake."

Fitzgerald looked up from behind a makeshift desk an intern had created from a rectangle table and a tattered tablecloth.

Before him stood a petite black woman with her straight hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore a black power suit with a white blouse and he imagined she looked younger than she actually was. She also wore a no nonsense expression on her face.

He gaped. "Who are…"

"Hi, I'm Olivia Pope." She reached out a slender hand for him to shake. She placed a brown briefcase on his "desk" and took the seat across from him. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her. So this was Olivia Pope? He had not actually gotten the chance to meet her at the banquet, but Cyrus had been more than ecstatic that she'd come and sat through his entire speech.

"She didn't say 'no'," Cyrus had exclaimed.

"So what if she had?" Grant had asked and Cyrus had looked at him in disbelief.

"Olivia Pope is the best communication director there is. You need her to have a chance in this race."

And, now, here she was.

"Why shouldn't I compare myself to Reagan?" He tried to mask a scowl. He hadn't meant to come across so defensively.

"Reagan brings up certain images. For left-leaning independents, he brings up the start of de-regulation and a time when a disease like HIV/AIDS was ignored. Conservatives and right-leaning independents obviously like him, but since Democrats have already started using Reagan's amnesty policy in their fight for immigration reform we don't know which way that will spin in the American public's view yet, and if it goes sour, we don't want your name attached in any way. That's of course assuming that any of the younger voters know him at all and minorities of all generations tend to have a much less favorable view of him. Demographics are changing, Senator. Reagan is not the sure fire name brand he used to be."

He looked at her in amazement. She had said all of that without taking a breath and he was exhausted from just listening. In fact, he stared at her so long that she actually started fidgeting. Finally, "Okay, what do you suggest?"

"Cancer patients, specifically children."

"Excuse me?" he asked in shock.

She pulled out a thick, black three ring binder and opened to a page. He glanced over her shoulder and noticed that it was a bill, one he had sponsored in his first term as state senator.

"You made it possible that parents with children with cancer don't have to worry about their children dying if they don't have insurance. It's estimated that the bill you sponsored has saved thousands of sick children's lives. People love children, but they especially love sick children."

"Don't you think that's a bit morbid?" Cyrus must have been mistaken if he thought this woman was his presidential salvation.

She smiled grimly. "Yes. Unfortunately, despite how much they protest, the American public likes morbid. It's why they eat up attack ads."

He scrubbed a hand down his face. As sad as the fact was, he saw the logic in it.

"So, how do we do this?"

"We have a scheduled meeting with St. Mary Children's Hospital tomorrow. If we frame this as you connecting as a father, we can get a very nice photo op out of this."

He sighed. "This just feels…dirty."

She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. "This is politics, Sir. You're not this naïve. You've served two terms as Senator. Your vow not to run attack ads then was quaint. Well, that was small potatoes, now we're in the big leagues and we have to put in our best strategy for this to work."

* * *

Olivia and Fitzgerald were editing his next speech when they heard Cyrus shouting, "It worked!" They watched as he maneuvered around sparsely arranged chairs and tables.

Fitzgerald couldn't help but get caught in Cyrus' excitement. "What worked?"

Cyrus held up the front page of a paper. On the cover was a frail little girl in a pink headscarf hugging Grant. There was such warmth that radiated through the still picture that even a professional photoshopper couldn't have done a better job. Beside it was the latest poll numbers. He had a clear lead over Mr. "Women Should Stay in the Kitchen" and was quickly gaining on his next competitor.

"Ha! I told you. Olivia knows best," Cyrus gushed.

For her part, Olivia looked mortified at the praise and tried to hide a blush. Fitzgerald found that interesting. For all her bravado, the woman couldn't take a compliment? As much as it pained him, it was her strategy that had worked.

"Shoo, Cyrus," Olivia said with a smile. "We have to finish this speech."

"Yes, shoo, Cyrus," Grant joked.

Cyrus smiled and rolled his eyes at them. Iowa hadn't come yet and already he could tell they were going to be the three amigos.

* * *

"Well, she's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"Who?" Fitzgerald asked as he loosened his tie. He watched Mellie in the mirror as she removed her pearl earrings.

"Olivia Pope. She's quite the looker."

Fitzgerald tilted his head to the side and squinted. "What do you mean?"

Mellie huffed at him. "Don't be silly, Fitz. You can see the woman is beautiful. Everyone can see she is. I'm okay with that, you know; you working with beautiful women is fine with me as long as the goal is the White House."

He turned around bare-chested and walked toward her. "You know there is no one but you, Mel."

"Mmmhmm," she muttered. She took a make-up wipe out and smoothed it over her face.

"Really, Mel. There's only you and me."

She glanced up, alarm lighting up her eyes. "It better not just be us. It's clear that Olivia is the right choice."

Grant sighed. Mellie confused him. She was a dutiful wife who had encouraged him when he ran for senator and had held his hand when he broke the news of a presidential run to the kids, but sometimes he thought she might be even more ambitious than he was.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Again, thank you for all the lovely reviews. It's wonderful to read such awesome feedback. I had to take a quick break to study and take my PoliSci final exam and I don't have computer access on the weekends so just a couple of notes there.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

They lost Iowa. It was inevitable. The campaign there turned out to be a sinking ship that had taken on too much water to be saved. They had, however, surprised many a political analyst by leapfrogging at the last minute over former Arkansas Governor Gregory Benedict into second place in New Hampshire. Cyrus was right. New Hampshire was tailor-made for him and he had no doubt that if Olivia had come on board a month earlier he would have won the state.

His numbers slowly trudged upward after the photo op and his dynamic concession speech to front-runner Elton Jenner, which turned out to be more of a rallying cry for his campaign.

Yesterday, a Hollywood executive approached them with the intent of hosting a fundraising dinner. The price was to move from $1,000 to $5,000 a plate, a clear sign of his increasing influence in the race.

Fitzgerald sipped from a steaming cup of black coffee as he walked through the entrance of the main South Carolina campaign headquarters. The building, an old converted restaurant, still had the smell of burgers and grease etched into it. The ceiling lights cast a gloomy, yellow glow over the office and the mini-fridge in the back made an incessant buzzing noise that none of the interns had quite figured out how to fix.

Two heads shot up to look at him in unison. He almost chuckled. Cyrus and Olivia were practically attached at the hip. Side by side they sorted through stacks of papers. Knowing them, it was likely a collection of polls, opinion pieces and topics for future speeches.

"Fitzgerald," she called.

He almost whipped his head too hard looking at her. Both Cyrus and he had been prompting Olivia to use his first name, but now that she was he couldn't help but think it was a grave mistake.

Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III was a decidedly stuffy name, and no matter how many times his father had told him he would age into it, he never believed it. He'd been teased as "Shitzy Fitzy" so often in elementary and middle school that he'd gone solely by Thomas in high school. Mellie had told him Fitzgerald was presidential, a name full of character that Americans would trust, a name that balanced his boyish charm. He still hated it. Until Olivia. Olivia made him reconsider his name. Her voice, always a decimal above smoky, knew how to stress the syllables in just the right way. With only two and a half weeks of working together under their belts, Fitzgerald didn't want to examine exactly what that meant.

He swallowed down a gulp of the burnt coffee to disguise his reaction before answering, "Yes?"

"Look at these polls," she said with a frown.

Grant tossed his suit jacket onto a nearby chair before wedging himself into the slot that Cyrus had made between the two strategists.

"What polls?" He stood close to her so he could eye the paper in her hands.

"Evangelical Christian voters. The Gallup numbers for your favorability amongst them are barely thirty percent." She lifted another sheet and pointed a finger to a single line. "The State has you polling below twenty-five percent here with evangelicals."

"Who cares?" He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. Evangelical voters were a key part of his base. It didn't matter that Fitzgerald himself was borderline agnostic, every conservative since Reagan had been pandering to this particular interest group.

"Fitzgerald." This time her voice was laced with disapproval.

"I know," he sighed. He placed his Styrofoam cup on the table and shoved his hands into his pocket.

"What now?" he asked.

"There's a preacher who is willing to endorse you in Charleston," Cyrus said.

Fitzgerald turned to look at him. There was something in Cyrus' voice that alarmed him. "But?"

"He's a pretty well known gay basher." Cyrus uttered these words so quietly that Grant almost had to strain to hear them although they stood only inches apart.

"No," Fitzgerald said, looking Cyrus in the eye.

"It's a good opportunity, Fitz. He has a lot of sway in this state." Cyrus stared back at Grant.

"So does Rush Limbaugh. It doesn't mean I'll be pandering to him." Fitzgerald touched Cyrus' sleeve. "Some things are not worth a vote. Understood?" He didn't miss the slight smile that lit Cyrus' face.

He turned back to Olivia. "What about going to church?" It might not have been his particular thing, but he wasn't opposed to other people practicing their religion.

Olivia shook her head. "Too transparent. You don't have a record of attending services."

"So we have to find a way to pander to evangelicals without looking like we're pandering to evangelicals." He unfastened the button on his left shirtsleeve, rolled it up to his elbow, and repeated the motion with his right shirtsleeve. Fitzgerald plopped down into one of the scattered chairs across from Olivia.

"Congratulations, Sir, you've just described all of politics," Cyrus sarcastically said.

"Now, if I only knew the key to life," he said with a grin.

"42, Sir," Olivia deadpanned.

Both Cyrus and Fitzgerald looked at her quizzically.

"Never mind," she murmured.

Cyrus gave Fitzgerald a look. "So, now that we've talked ourselves back to where we started, who would like breakfast?"

They gave Cyrus their breakfast order and watched him go. Were the campaign bigger, they'd have an intern take care of it, but Fitzgerald was just starting to garner the attention needed for a full service staff. As it was, Olivia, Cyrus and he were practically camping out on the RV.

He sighed before looking over at Olivia. "I didn't hear your suggestion for this evangelical problem."

She smiled. "First, make sure you keep that "evangelical problem" language confined to this room. Second, follow your gut. What does it tell you?"

He leaned back in his chair and swung his feet up to rest in another chair. "My gut? My gut told me not to run for president."

She tilted her head and glanced at him. "And why is that?"

"It complicated things. The kids hate it. Karen hasn't forgiven me since I announced my decision to run."

"Mellie doesn't seem to feel that way."

He barked out a humorless snort. "Mellie wouldn't." He didn't elaborate and she didn't pressure him.

"I always follow my gut. It hasn't proven me wrong yet."

"Yeah?" He raised a brow in her direction.

She nodded.

"Hmm, what does your gut say about me?" The moment he spoke the words he wondered if she caught his double meaning.

She pursed her full lips, the ones that said his name just perfect, and eyed him. "You're a good guy. You would make a good president." If she caught his other meaning, she ignored it.

Shit. The campaign was just getting started and already he was screwed.

* * *

AN: The State is apparently a real SC media source. I don't know much about them. Also, Olivia seems like she could have been a geek so I hope her joking about "42" doesn't seem out of character for her.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you to all the reviewers. I enjoy reading your feedback.

I'm still smarting over those last two episodes.

*I made up the unemployment rate in this chapter. It's not accurate.

* * *

"And, that's why if I'm the nominee, I will put Americans back to work and ensure that they get on their feet again!"

The crowd of 17,000 people, their largest audience to date, roared at his closing words. Bright red signs imprinted with "Grant for President" danced from the outstretched hands of several thousand people as chants of "Back to work" rang out.

Fitzgerald smiled, waved and bounded off the stage. The wrap-up speaker's voice boomed into the microphone as he waded deep into the noisy throng. Camera phones shuttered as he posed with children and grasped the sweaty palms of the attendees. Today had been tiring. He'd had two other rallies-one in Jacksonville and another in Tampa, but the growth in support was exciting.

Finally, with the bleachers emptying and the clamor dying, he slipped through the back halls of the Florida college gymnasium.

"Fantastic, Senator. You really worked the crowd," Olivia said, stepping into sync with him.

He loosened his tie. "South Carolina?"

"It looks good."

After a knockout debate performance against Senator Elton Jenner, Fitzgerald's numbers had skyrocketed. Even with the gap in enthusiasm from evangelicals, he picked up the women and youth vote, which bolstered him to first place.

Cyrus was still in South Carolina crunching numbers and directing the ever-growing staff for what was sure to be a big victory.

Mellie had flown to Alabama to discuss her commitment to literacy and was drawing large crowds of her own.

Fitzgerald and Olivia traveled to Florida. He was eight points behind, but steadily gaining momentum.

He watched her leaf through a stack of thick papers. He was exhausted just looking at them. He didn't know how Cyrus and Olivia did it. Giving speeches, shaking hands and kissing babies was easy, clean even. What those two did was dirty. Cyrus once joked that he was a sausage maker who lived for those messy, backroom, political brawls that Fitzgerald couldn't stomach. Grant agreed.

They walked into the muggy Florida evening. The sun was nestled just above the horizon as daylight attempted to cling on.

"The latest polls for the state haven't come out yet, but with the seventh largest unemployment rate in the country, the economy is sure to be a pressing issue."

He paused to let her step onto the RV. They walked to the back while Charley, their driver, started the vehicle. He listened to it stutter awake, and sighed. The RV was on its last leg, but it didn't matter. Tomkin's Tour Bus Company had given the campaign a "Grant for President" luxury liner bus as a donation. Once the final paint job dried, they could say goodbye to cracked leather seats and spotty air conditioning and hello to a professional cruiser.

Slipping out of his suit jacket, he slumped in the seat across from Olivia. Her head was buried in the papers she had brought onboard.

"Do you ever stop?" he asked abruptly.

She startled and leveled her eyes to his, barely lowering the paper she read. "Excuse me?" A low overhead light illuminated her face in the growing darkness.

"Do you ever stop?" he repeated. "You've been working 24/7 since you joined this campaign. I can't tell you how flattering that is, but I never see you relax."

"I relax," she replied defensively. She leaned back against her seat, abandoning the data she'd been scanning on the table in front of her.

"Really? What do you do? What makes Olivia "campaign fixer" Pope feel peace?" He crossed one leg over the other and stared at her.

"I…" she paused and he lifted an eyebrow at her. "It's a little cliché, but I like walking in parks."

"Parks." He tested the word out. "Okay, let's go to a park."

She started sharply. "What?"

"Let's go to a park. Charley should know some place."

She laughed. "Senator, you can't be serious. We can't go to a park now. We have two rallies tomorrow and a construction site to tour."

"And we'll do all those things after we go to a park."

"Senator," she began.

"You like walking in parks. I like having a well-rested staff. I think that's a win for everyone."

He stood and ambled down the passageway of the moving vehicle to speak to the driver.

* * *

It took him awhile, but he was able to convince her to trade in her work stilettos for her workout sneakers and step outside the RV. The sun had finally lost its claim to the day and the overhead lamps of the park glowed brightly.

"Cyrus would kill me if he knew what we were doing when we have so much work left tonight," she said.

He gave her one of his devilishly charming smiles. "Good thing Cyrus isn't here then."

She turned to look at him, but didn't reply.

"So, why do you like parks?" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from touching her. He hadn't realized how badly an idea it was to be this close to Olivia alone.

A faint grin rose on her face. They detoured onto a trail that seemed to lead to a small beach. "Good memories. Growing up, I would always go to a park when I needed to think things through or get some "me" time. Libraries and parks were my refuge as a child."

"I bet you were an interesting child."

She snorted. "Bossy and nosey to a fault. My parents adored me; the neighborhood children hated me."

"Hmm, seems you carried some of that with you into adulthood."

She huffed at him, but couldn't stop a smile from forming at his smirk. "What about you? What was young Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the III like?"

They reached a boardwalk and coasted down the sturdy wood walkway.

"I don't think I was ever young," he said seriously. "I mean obviously I was a child, but my family always expected things of me. I've always been obligated to be something for someone else. I was expected to go to Harvard then I was expected to marry Mellie and expected to have children and run for Senator. I guess I've always been expected to be president too."

He looked out at the waves. They stood silently for a moment and he let his sadness crash over him.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally questioned.

"Sure," she replied softly.

"You say you always follow your gut. Do you ever think you've made a serious mistake?" He turned his piercing stare onto her.

"Is this about running for president?" she asked. "I know you're nervous, but you really will make a great leader."

"No," he answered quietly. "I mean about other things. Like soul mates."

"I don't believe in soul mates," she replied.

He sighed. "Neither did I. Before."

Turning his body toward her, he watched her swallow down a nervous gulp. He clenched his fist before lifting it out of his pocket. His fingers flexed and he reached for her. His palm grazed her face before she flinched away from his touch.

"Senator," she began.

"Liv," he breathed.

"I think we should get back. We have a lot to do to prepare for tomorrow's events."

With that, she walked away from him carrying a chunk of his heart with her.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Can I just say that the stories in this fandom are so interesting? So many good ideas!

It's going to get really AU from here. Hope you enjoy the ride.

Thanks to all the readers and reviewers.

Disclaimer: Not mine

* * *

"You're avoiding me," he said. He watched her slender fingers feed a dollar into a glowing Coca Cola machine. She pressed the bright "Diet Coke" button and waited as the machine simultaneously belched out her change while its belly released a soda. Her gaze refocused so that she could see his reflection off the machine's surface.

He should be thrilled with this day. He had just given his victory speech after the South Carolina primary to a roaring crowd of over 26,000 supporters and the new Florida state polls had him within arm's reach of Jenner at only three points behind. He should have been thrilled, but instead he spent the day on edge, barely keeping his composure when the nosey reporter from The Miami Herald asked why his wife wasn't on the road with him more.

"Senator," she said without facing him.

He felt his frustration rise to the surface. "For fuck's sake, Liv. Can we stop with all the "Senator" shit?" His voice was barely below a shout.

"Lower your voice," she hissed. He watched her turn and look down both ways of the hallway of the hotel they were staying in.

"I'll lower my voice if you look at me and listen to me."

She sighed and brought her gaze to his.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"We came very close to being inappropriate the other day. You can't afford that. So far the press has given you a wide berth, but you are becoming popular, becoming the man to beat. When we get that bus next week, you will have a set of press corps assigned to you and your opponent will be looking for any gaffe to take you down. Being inappropriate with a campaign staff member who is not your wife is the jackpot of a gaffe. It is the goldmine that every campaign manager prays for."

He stared at her, his eyes focusing sharply on each of her facial features. "I don't care," he finally stated.

"What?"

"I don't care.

"Senator," she started, raising her hand at the protest of her using his title. "Senator Grant, you can not afford to be this reckless."

He ran a hand through his hair and bit his lip. "Liv, just tell me this isn't all in my head. Tell me that I'm not the only one drowning here."

"I think we shouldn't be discussing this." She took a step away from the machine and him and he reached for her arm, stopping her movement.

"Liv!" he growled.

She glanced down at her arm in his hold before looking up at him, but said nothing.

"Why do you have to think? Why can't you just feel?"

"With all due respect, Senator, it's a good thing one of us is thinking." She jerked her arm harder than was necessary to remove it from his grasp. He watched her walk down the hall with a look of disbelief marring his face.

* * *

Fitzgerald was miserable. Like most other things, Olivia was right about the influx of press corps. When his shiny, new campaign bus pulled into the parking lot of a small hometown breakfast meeting he was attending, a whole group of reporters was ready to board with him. And they weren't kind. He didn't believe in the myth of the liberal mainstream media, but he did think the press was ready to tear into anyone who dared swim in the ocean of political life and they'd seen the chum in the water in his relationship with Mellie.

"You guys are frozen. You have to show more life together, more passion."

Fitzgerald wasn't so much listening to Olivia as he was watching her. Watching Olivia had become a "thing", a bad thing that he really needed to break since Mellie was back and looming around. Mellie wasn't stupid. He might not be in love with her, but he'd picked a smart, crafty woman to marry.

"You need to look like you love each other," Cyrus chimed in. "You need to touch every once in awhile. There's too much focus on your marriage right now. We're not getting the campaign message out."

"You think you can do that?" Olivia inquired. He heard the edge in her voice. She shifted from her position leaning against a round table in their Florida headquarters.

Mellie narrowed her eyes and smiled before looking at Fitzgerald. "I think we can manage. Right, honey?"

"Right," he croaked out.

* * *

"I thought I'd find you here." He walked into the humid air and looked around. The upscale hotel they were staying in had a makeshift garden on one of its balconies. Flowers full of purples and blues and reds sprouted from the heavy ceramic pots lining the sides. A downpour had drenched the area earlier and left half a rainbow in its wake. "This is as close to a park as you can get in this city, huh?" He jammed his hands into his pant's pockets and leaned against the rail that Olivia was hanging onto.

"Senator," she started.

He sighed so loudly she looked at him with concern. "You are never going to call me by my name again, are you? I should change my name to Senator."

She gave him a small smile. "I don't know why you insist on pushing boundaries, Sir."

"Sir," he questioned, his eyebrow rising in amusement, "that's much worse. If we have to do this dance, then stick with Senator."

"So, what brings you out here?" He looked out over the towering landscape. Buildings here seemed to shoot up from the ground in fancy, swiveled glass shapes.

"You," she answered honestly.

"Me?" he asked when she didn't elaborate.

"Your poll numbers are good, but something isn't clicking with older voters."

His face fell. "You weren't out here for me, you were out here because of the campaign."

"That's what I'm here for, Senator. I'm here as a favor to Cyrus to help you win the election."

"Cyrus?" he asked incredulously. "No, you stopped being here for Cyrus a long time ago. You can act like this isn't something else, Olivia, but don't you dare lie. Don't you dare."

"I don't know how to do this," she said softly.

He sighed and moved closer to her. "Good. That makes two of us. I don't know how to do this either. Do you think I planned this? I was happy coasting along with Mellie until you showed up."

She turned sharply to face him then. "What are you saying? Are you saying this is my fault?" She sucked in a breath and moved away from him.

"No, no, Baby, that's not what I'm saying at all." He cringed at his slip when she opened her mouth in shock.

"What did you call me?"

"Olivia, come on." He reached for her.

She shook her head. "I can't do this. Whatever _this_ is." She gestured between the two of them.

"Why?"

Her eyes widened at his question. "Why? Cameras are locked on you twenty hours a day. You can barely go to the restroom without someone trying to get details on your life. I will not be seen as the woman who wrecked your marriage."

"God, Liv, is that what you think? That I see you as some kind of home wrecker? First, you can't wreck a non-existent home and second, you are making me feel at home for the first time in my life."

Silence descended between them and he edged closer. She didn't back away even as he invaded her space, breathing her in. His hands lifted to her face and he tilted his head as he leaned closer. The second their lips met, he knew he would never be the same. He sucked on her full bottom lip until she gave him entrance. His fingers tightened in her hair when he felt her hands reach up to his shoulders to pull him closer. He finally broke the kiss when he needed air. He knew she knew just how much he wanted her then and if the look in her eyes was any indication, she wanted him too.

"Fitz," she said and he felt himself get harder. Yeah, he definitely knew why she'd stopped calling him Fitzgerald. He was fucked.

* * *

"Do we know why?"

Fitzgerald could hear Mellie and Cyrus in the other room as he stretched from the bed. He thought about last night. Olivia and he had kissed and then they were doing more than kissing. They were tugging at clothing and moaning and shifting into positions he had only dreamt about when Olivia's phone rung. Never had he ever hated technology as much as he did then. They parted, but not before he told her, "This is not over. You can't erase this."

He pulled on his pajama pants and walked into the suit's living area. Both Cyrus and Mellie looked at him. Mellie glanced at him with a strange look, but it was Cyrus' face that alarmed him.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

Cyrus held up a sheet of paper. "Olivia quit."

* * *

End A/N: I wanted to keep the bit about Mellie and Fitz not quite getting along. Also, work is very busy these days so I'm squeezing this in when I can.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not mine

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. They are always appreciated.

I am following the 2012 U.S. Republican Primary schedule as the timeline in this story. You can find it on Wikipedia.

* * *

Fitzgerald clicked the hotel television off and slammed the remote control down on the dresser.

It was hours after a disastrous interview that had already spawned multiple wince-worthy sound bites.

It should have been an easy interview with a nobody reporter that Fitzgerald was throwing a bone to so he could boast that he wasn't just in the pocket of "big" media. Instead, Gideon, the mousy kid who looked like he'd barely graduated journalism school, dug into Fitzgerald's past and produced something that even Cyrus was surprised to discover.

After wins in Florida, Nevada, Maine, Michigan and Washington and losses in Colorado, Missouri, Minnesota, Arizona and Wyoming, both the Benedict and Grant campaigns were racing full speed toward Super Tuesday. If Grant could win huge on March 6th then he could make a convincing case to donors that he was the one to go head-to-head with Democratic Senator Ted Franklin in November.

But now that was in jeopardy.

Boy Scout reporter Gideon discovered that Fitzgerald used to be president of the board of Earltine Properties. That part was no secret. Fitz touted his stint and revitalization of the company as an advantage when it came to governing, especially economic governance as Earltine moved out of the red and firmly into the black under his leadership. What was a secret to Fitzgerald was that he was listed as board president on important documents three years after he'd left. Two years after his departure, Earltine was immersed in a minor slumlord scheme. Earltine bought properties, barely fixed them up, leased them for exorbitant amounts and then ignored tenants when they complained about roaches and falling structures. But that had been after Chuck Rogers had taken over. There was no connection to Fitzgerald.

Gideon had asked Fitz about his time there. While the question caught him off guard, he'd confidently spoken well of his hands-on approach to company governance. That was until Gideon produced documents Fitz's name on them when the company was embroiled in a lawsuit from several tenants. So far, Fitzgerald's stammered response was making waves across the twenty-four hour networks.

He walked over to the minibar and removed a tiny bottle of Scotch. He could literally see the panic on Cyrus' face as Fitz removed his microphone in a huff. Was this the fatalistic gaffe that would topple his campaign? And why, through all of this, could he not help but wonder what Olivia Pope would do if she were here.

Gone nearly a month, Fitz tried calling her a week ago. He had practiced his speech. He would be "professional". He would not touch her or corner her or do any of the things that he so desperately wanted to do, if only she would come back to the campaign and be his fixer. Instead of reaching the calming, confident voice he was accustomed to, he heard the automated woman telling him that she was sorry, but the number he had dialed was no longer in service. He asked Cyrus for information, but even the kingpin of their operation didn't know where she was. It was like she dropped off the political radar like a survivalist off the grid.

Grant downed the miniature Scotch and flung himself across the bed. He and Mellie weren't even pretending to feign a relationship anymore. Oh, sure, they attended events together, they smiled, they posed for the cameras holding hands, but their behind the scenes façade had fallen away quickly. It was good this wasn't a year in which family values were paramount to voters. With the harsh economic times, people were willing to tolerate a little coldness between their potential First couple, if it meant jobs and financial security.

Although she'd not quite pieced it together, he knew that Mellie accurately gathered that he was the reason for Olivia's speedy departure. Mellie liked Olivia if only for the fact that Olivia seemed to have all the keys to getting Mellie the title of First Lady, and she wanted to be First Lady almost as badly as Fitz wanted to run away and be with Olivia.

Fitzgerald smoothed a hand across his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a headache working its way through his brain. He could only imagine what Cyrus was doing. After the interview, Cyrus shook his head at Fitz's offer to help. Fitz knew that this would be a time of speaking with his lawyers about the lawsuit he'd never been informed of, trying to get to the bottom of why the company still had his name on their papers, the legality of such actions and, if push came to shove, digging up nasty information on the reporter to discredit him and then bully the company into releasing a statement denouncing his name on their records. Even Fitzgerald knew the last option would be hard to accomplish. The story had gone national and now every amateur detective with a computer was peering into his financial and legal records.

_If only Olivia Pope were here._

He stood from the bed, rummaged through the leather satchel his mother gave him when he graduated from Harvard, located a plastic container of ibuprofen and downed twin pills with the remainder of his bottled water from dinner.

* * *

"Anything new?" Fitzgerald asked Cyrus.

They were in the Virginia campaign headquarters, holed up in Cyrus' office, trying to figure out their next steps in this blooming scandal. The office, a room with sunlight slinking between the mini-blinds, hanging plotted plants and lots of mahogany colored furniture, barely looked like the strategic room it was.

Cyrus sighed. "No. Earltine says they don't know why your name is on the papers. I spoke to Travis Tanner, your old lawyer before he moved out of state, and he said he knows nothing about a lawsuit. I did get a lovely call from a lady at the SEC who wants to clarify your position at Earltine Properties for the three years that they attached your name to their records with no acknowledgment from you. This is a disaster, Fitzgerald."

Grant leaned back in his chair. Already the Benedict campaign was pouncing. Benedict's lead strategist, Hershel Edwards, hit all the morning talk shows asking why Fitzgerald was hiding such an important secret from the American people and what that meant to his credibility as a leader.

"What do we do?"

"We need to bring in the big guns."

"No. We don't fight this dirty." Fitzgerald raised a hand to keep Cyrus from interrupting him. "If we lose we lose. "

"Senator…"

Fitzgerald closed his eyes. "We lose with honor, Cyrus."

* * *

"What is this I hear about you throwing in the towel?"

"I'm not in the mood, Mellie."

They were getting ready for a closed-door fundraiser where only elite donors would be present. Cyrus spun this little information like the weaver he was. Instead of an "embattled Fitzgerald Grant attending a fundraiser" headline it was a "confident Senator Grant attending a fundraiser" story making the rounds. It wouldn't hold off the media for long, but for the night Fitzgerald could breeze by reporters looking like the clear frontrunner.

"You're the one who came to me and the kids begging us to give this a chance. We made a decision as a family and you don't get to give up on this just because things are a little difficult." She applied a coat of fresh lipstick as she spoke.

"How do you propose that we fix this? We're getting no answers and you know Cyrus. If anyone can get answers to the hard questions, it's Cyrus. "

He shrugged into his suit jacket and watched her blot her lips.

She looked at him with blazing dark eyes. "We don't give up."

* * *

The night sky was full of city lights obscuring the stars. Fitzgerald leaned against the windowsill of his campaign office. He wondered about the bustling traffic below. The fundraiser went well. He'd hobnobbed the wealthy Koch brothers, Robert Downey Jr. and Harold Simmons with ease. He and Mellie looked like the king and queen of a ball.

The problems didn't start until they left the hall, entered the limousine and Mellie asked him what he was going to do about the growing problem of Earltine Properties. Fitzgerald wasn't like some politicians. He didn't rely on Mellie's opinion for making decisions outside of the ones that would influence their immediate family so he was not interested in any unsolicited advice. It wasn't that she wasn't smart enough. If he was honest, she was smarter than he was any day. She'd trumped his grades at Harvard. No, the problem was that Mellie gathered information and then went over to the dark side to produce results. She was a more charming Cyrus. He only needed one Cyrus Beene in his life and he preferred the one that was honest about his willingness to do anything possible to win.

After their heated argument, Mellie went to the hotel and he headed to the office to cool down. The kids were in town on a weekend break and the last thing they needed to see was more tension between their mother and him.

He sipped a bit of Scotch from his glass and sighed. He was three glasses of Scotch beyond tipsy.

"I don't think the American people will elect someone they suspect of being an alcoholic. It worked for W., but he had over ten years sobriety behind him."

Fitzgerald turned around at the voice. He looked down at the amber liquid. Maybe he was too drunk? He'd never had hallucinations while drinking before though. He looked up again and she was still there.

"Olivia?" he whispered.

She stood in a tailored gray Giorgio Armani suit clutching a black Prada bag in front of her waist with her hair swept off her face.

She raised a brow at him and replied, "Senator Grant."

* * *

AN: I wanted Olivia to sit most of this chapter out, but the next chapter she will be back in action.


	7. Chapter 7

He watched in awe as she zoomed around the room. She'd said goodnight to him, told him to sleep off the remaining of the alcohol buzzing through his system, warned him the next day would be a busy one and shoved him toward Hal and Tom without a second glance.

Now, he sat in a corner chair, watching as she instructed two perky interns on what she needed.

All he could think about was where had she come from? Where had she been? Why did she come back? Would she be staying? He knew he should be focusing on the long list of interviews she had scheduled, but his mind could not disconnect from these burning questions.

"You ready?" Cyrus said.

Fitzgerald shrugged. "I guess. I don't even know what Olivia knows."

Cyrus sighed. Fitzgerald could see the man was not interested in being the go-between guy for him and Olivia.

"What we know so far is that the next president of Earltine kept your name on the documents because he didn't want to get caught with his pants down around his ankles for this slum lord scheme. That would have worked just fine, but you decided to run for president of the United States. The bastard was happy to let you take all the blame while he got the money."

"How do we know all this?" Fitz asked incredulously.

"Olivia knows a fellow."

"Another one," Fitzgerald said.

"Yes, Olivia knows many fellows. Anyway, this one, this Harrison someone or another, used to work financials with a man who had dealings with Earltine. He and another fellow found this information out."

"Wow."

"Yes, wow." Cyrus paused then sighed. He leaned down conspicuously. "This isn't my business, but I know Olivia left for areason. I don't really care what that reason is. I just know we need her to stay if you expect to win. Fix whatever this is between you two. I'm not planning on playing Mr. Mom for the rest of this campaign."

Fitzgerald remained silent.

"I didn't hear an answer," Cyrus growled.

"Yes, yes, I'll fix it."

"Good. You and Mellie are expected to meet with Karen for a softball interview at 11:00 a.m. Olivia thinks giving the first scoop to her will help soften the other interviews."

Fitzgerald nodded and stood. His legs were still unsettled, but his mind and heart were clear. Cyrus was right. He'd broken them. He'd tore down the three musketeers and it was his business to fix them. He needed Olivia for this campaign, even if he couldn't have her completely.

He found her shouting instructions to a frazzled intern. She stomped away from the poor guy and leaned over a clipboard. Her ability to sense Fitz's presence was uncanny.

"Is there something you need, Senator?" She didn't look up.

He felt his body flush. She made him feel like a schoolboy with his first crush. He hated that feeling. He'd forgotten just how awkward and clumsy it made him. He also loved that feeling. There was nothing like feeling that first rush of love zap your senses and take over your body.

"Can I speak to you in the hall?"

They needed to resolve this. They needed to resolve it now.

"I'm busy, Senator."

"One minute, please." He knew he sounded pathetic when he pleaded. His father, Big Jerry, had constantly told him what a whiny child he sounded like when he begged.

She sighed, yet she followed him outside the campaign office. He closed the door shut behind them and glanced down the hall. It was empty.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did and I'm glad you came back."

"You mean you want to know why I came back." She crossed her arms and looked at him sternly, but all he could see was her using her posture as a defense mechanism.

He looked her in the eye. "I do. I do want to know why you came back, Liv, but I'll settle with not knowing and having you here. I just want to start again. Can we do that?"

"I don't know, Senator."

He huffed in frustration.

She shook her head. "No, don't do that. We need boundaries. The last time I dropped them, we nearly gave downtown Miami a show."

He grinned. "A show, huh?"

"Stop," she said, but the word lost its firmness because she couldn't stop smiling back at him.

He regained his composure. "So we can do this?"

Olivia nodded. "We can do this."

At that moment, Mellie stuck her head out of the door. "There you are, Liv!" she exclaimed and whisked Olivia from sight.

Fitzgerald felt all the energy deflate from his body. His head rocked back against the wall. _They could do this. They had to do this._

* * *

"So what you're saying is that you were set up?" Karen, a popular talk show host, asked.

"Yes, Karen. It seems my successor thought it would be great to do something illegal with my name still attached. I guess he never counted on me running for president." He gave her a grin and both he and Mellie laughed.

"Are you pressing charges?"

"Me? No. However, I don't know that the Feds will be so generous. I suspect fraud and a whole host of other charges will be up to them to look into."

"Your opponents jumped on these charges quickly. What do you have to say to them?" She adjusted her position by shifting forward in her easy chair. The bright stage lights washed over her eager face.

"I think some of my opponents may have operated off of speculation. However, they all should know that everything you read is not true. I'm looking forward to getting this campaign back to the facts." He smiled, squeezed Mellie's hand and looked back into the camera.

* * *

"Oh, you are the politician! Touchdown. Look at me, I'm using football metaphors and I hate football." Cyrus was walking briskly beside him as Fitz tugged at his stubborn tie. Cyrus gestured wildly with glee. The material gave way as Cyrus jabbed at the elevator button.

They stepped inside.

Fitzgerald tuned out his friend and watched the lights ding as the elevator went higher. They reached the fifth floor and Mellie and Olivia boarded.

"Ah, Fitzgerald, the interview went so well." Mellie leaned forward, pecked him on the lips, and smoothed a thumb across his lipstick stained lips to swipe the color away.

The four of them were silent as the lift kept going. Six. Seven. Eight.

The door dinged and Cyrus exited.

Mellie leaned forward to dig into her purse. "Oh, dear, I left my ring with that cute little blonde intern. I need to go back." She hit the button for the ninth floor. "I'll meet you upstairs."

The doors closed on them and Olivia and Fitz were staring at each other with wide eyes from opposite ends of the elevator car.

* * *

AN: Someone asked me why I made Fitz a Senator. I started writing this story after the first episode of season one. I didn't pay close attention to what position Fitz held before becoming president. I guessed Senator, which was wrong (It's usually a governor or Senator). But since it's AU, I kept it. I wish it was some really cool reason, but there's not.


End file.
